Prologue

There's a stranger in my bed
There's a pounding in my head
Glitter all over the room
Pink flamingos in the pool
I smell like a minibar
DJ's passed out in the yard
Barbies on the barbecue
Is this a hickey or a bruise?

Pictures of last night ended up online I'm screwed, oh well
It's a blacked-out blur but I'm pretty sure it ruled, damn!

Kurt Hummel blinked his eyes open to the new day. The sun was shining through his windows and everything was peaceful and quiet.

If only that insane hammering in his head would die down a bit.

He slowly transitioned into a sitting position, two hands holding his head in place to keep it from spinning. He looked around at his room, eyes bleary. Everything seemed really bright and shimmery, but that must have been from his hang over.

He stretched, arms out to his sides, when he encountered warm flesh. He flinched and looked over at the mop of long brown hair splayed out on her pillow. He was afraid to rouse this stranger... in fear of learning who it was. His biggest concern was that it was a naked female whom he did not recognize, but it seemed that he had bigger problems to attend to.

It wasn't all his drunken vision which was making the room sparkle, it was simply that his entire room was coated in glitter, like someone had stabbed a unicorn and spilled it's contents in a flamboyant array around his quarters.

As he began to regain his senses, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He hesitantly sniffed the naked female beside him and it wasn't her. She smelled like sweat, what he was smelling was something different. Looking down he realized he was naked too. Splendid. He sniffed his arm and winced. He smelled like a mini bar. His mouth tasted like floor of one too.

He roused himself out of bed, lazily holding a pillow in front of his crotch. He shuffled over to the window and squinted. The first thing that caught his attention were the bright pink flamingos that were floating around in his neighbor's pool.

Second, was the guy passed out in his own front lawn who had giant head phones around his neck. He assumed he was the DJ. Beside him was an open grill that would most likely start a fire if those hot dogs and plastic toys were not taken off within the next 10 minutes.

Kurt shrugged though and pretend like someone else would surely take care of that problem, because he was too tired and confused to deal with that minor detail at the moment.

He went to the bathroom, glancing at his full-length mirror as he urinated. Were those hickies or bruises? With his unoccupied hand, he pressed two fingers onto the purple marks.

Yep. It was a hickey. On his hip...and abdomen...and shoulder...and neck.

Oh, one bruise on his thigh.

He ran his hands under some water and haphazardly dried them off. He tiptoed over to his computer and winced when the start-up noise seemed to be particularly loud that morning.

He booted up his Facebook page. He almost slammed his forehead on the desk when the first picture someone had uploaded was of him on a table, in his underwear, dancing to Single Ladies. The next was also of him, posted by someone else, eating a jello-shot off of Sam Evan's washboard stomach, and the next picture was of him -oh- cupping his junk as he and two other blurs ran across a park.

He covered his face in his hands, willing it all to go away. But as he uncovered his eyes, all the chaos was still there and more pictures were rapidly surfacing online.

What had happened last Friday night?

So this story is going to go along with the lyrics to Katy Perry's song "T.G.I.F." There will be Klaine. We will find out who this mystery girl is and who will be the third person in the "menage trois?"